


four hundred bones

by inkk



Category: Waterparks (Band)
Genre: Anorexia, Break Up, Eating Disorders, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: This is, at its heart, a recovery story. The long way round.





	four hundred bones

**Author's Note:**

> i started this one kind of a long time ago and finally got around to finishing it! i’m not really in the fandom anymore, but whatever.
> 
>  **tw: anorexia**. contains graphic discussion of disordered eating and (failed) suicide attempts.  
> this one is essentially based upon my own experiences, however i'm obviously not the authority: mental illness takes countless forms and is different for everyone.  
> title from the [song](https://youtu.be/YHoHXF8Rxo0) by Frightened Rabbit. please don't try to read this to trigger yourself.

+

It gets worse around the fall, because it seems like it always does. The sun goes down a little earlier, the wind picks up, the leaves change colour, and Awsten stops eating.

He’s so predictable it’s almost laughable - always making sure to be missing around meal times, drinking way too much black tea and pulling the same “I already ate while I was out” bullshit they both know is a lie. Whenever Geoff does manage to corner him with supper, he reluctantly accepts a few vegetables and gets explosively angry if Geoff tries to bring it up. The bags and bags of plain popcorn show up in the pantry, followed by the soup broth and the hot sauce and the cucumbers in the fridge that had been absent for the past year.

Geoff feels helpless. He feels sick. The low-calorie foods are sneaking in again, a sure sign of impending doom, and he doesn’t know what he can do that won’t end in a screaming match.

It’s worse than before, now, because Awsten had been doing so good for so long - after his latest discharge from the hospital at the start of last April, he had managed to more or less maintain his goal weight for nearly a year and a half. Things had been so fucking good. He’d been happy, following his meal plan, working past fear foods and starting to go to the gym with Otto, but now everything is crashing back down at an alarming rate. In a matter of a week and a half, they’ve gone right back to all the worst parts of it; the directionless anger, the hiding in sweatpants and hoodies, the crying in the bathroom at one in the morning when Awsten thinks Geoff doesn’t hear.

The monster is back, and it’s back with a vengeance.

 

+

 

Geoff’s first mistake is suggesting calling the psychiatrist.

They’re standing in the kitchen at ten at night, Awsten waiting for the kettle to boil so he can gulp down another cup of plain peppermint tea. It’s only three weeks into this nameless episode Geoff doesn’t want to label as a relapse, but Awsten is dropping weight quicker and more obviously than he ever has before. The fear is starting to claw at Geoff’s neck and he doesn’t know what to do.

Geoff looks down at Awsten’s bare feet and hairy calves. He says, “Have you talked to Doctor Ross lately?”

“What?”

Geoff ignores the bite in Awsten’s tone, pretends he doesn’t hear him bristle. “You’re probably due for a check-in, soon, right? Your meds are running a bit low.”

“I’m not,” Awsten says, even though he is. The appointment is marked on their calendar for the Thursday of next week.

Geoff lets the silence hang for a second, and then he says, “I just think maybe she’d want to see you. To check in and see how things are going.”

Awsten turns back to the kettle as it starts to boil, bubbles roiling, and says nothing. They’re dancing around the issue and they both know it.

“Awsten,” Geoff continues. “I think— Maybe you could talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be Doctor Ross, but we could find someone who could help with all of this, before it gets out of hand again. Someone who specializes in the stuff you’re going through.”

“‘Stuff’?”

Awsten’s tone is sharp, and Geoff’s heart sinks. “You know what I mean. You’re… Things are getting worse again and I—“

“It’s under control,” Awsten snaps.

Of course.

Geoff bites his lip and nods in placating agreement, because it’s been three years of this and he’s given up trying to fight Awsten head-on about what’s happening in front of their faces. They don’t use those words: they don’t say _anorexia_ , they don’t say _borderline personality disorder_ , they don’t say _anxiety_ or _PTSD_. They don’t say any of that, because that would be too close to admitting he has a problem.

Geoff settles on, “I never said it wasn’t.”

Awsten’s gaze snaps around to meet his, eyes sparking in defensive anger. “I don’t— I’m fine, okay, can you just stop fucking looking at me like that?”

“Okay,” Geoff says, calculatedly neutral. “Can you eat something, please?”

“Fuck you,” Awsten bites out.

Righteous. Always righteous.

Geoff leaves the room. Awsten crawls into bed beside him an hour later, but neither of them apologize.

Awsten falls asleep on an empty stomach and a feeling of control. Geoff lies awake for a long time, feeling like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff with one leg dangling over the side.

He can’t know that this is the beginning of the end.

 

+

 

Geoff doesn’t try to guilt Awsten into eating, because he knows it never works. Otto still does, sometimes - he’ll show up at their apartment with Awsten’s favorite takeout food and a hopeful, well-meaning attitude, and Geoff will watch Awsten grit his teeth and give in, knowing full well he won’t keep any of it down.

No matter how awful the restriction is, the purging is somehow always worse. It happens like clockwork: Geoff will watch Awsten eat, and he’ll wait three to five minutes for Awsten to excuse himself to the bathroom like he always does, and then he’ll stand outside the locked door while he listens to the water running, the sound of gagging and the retching before the toilet flushes and the tap turns off.

Awsten will walk out without saying anything. He won’t meet Geoff’s eyes, but there will be a challenge in the clench of his jaw. Geoff will try not to see the telltale constellations of broken blood vessels on the soft skin beneath his eyes.

 

+

 

Awsten tries to kiss him, and for the first time ever, it makes something inside Geoff want to scrub his body out with bleach.

It’s week three and a half of the relapse by now. They’re on the bed, facing each other in the darkness, and Geoff can just make out the gleam of Awsten’s eyes. They haven’t fought all day - a small miracle - but that’s still only due to the fact that Geoff has been at work all day and Awsten was out doing god-knows-what until eight.

So when Awsten leans in to kiss him for the first time in a week, Geoff kisses back. It’s almost automatic. He wants the intimacy; he wants for this to work, to be able to feel normal and connected. He’s desperate to feel some sort of okay, and he thinks maybe somehow this can help. 

It doesn’t.

It’s strange and unfamiliar and it’s like kissing a stranger. Awsten‘s mouth is moving against his with an unprecedented, vicious urgency, too much teeth and tongue, hard against Geoff’s lips like he has something to prove. He’s shifting closer, his body too light but feeling heavy and suffocating, and it’s _wrong_ when he reaches under the covers to palm between Geoff’s legs.

Geoff jerks away like he’s been burnt. He physically pushes Awsten back with a hand splayed on his chest and chokes out, “Stop.”

The room goes cold. Geoff sits up and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and just tries to breathe for a second, tries to get his heart to stop feeling as if it’s ricocheting around like shrapnel in his chest.

Awsten just stares at him. His expression is more indecipherable in the darkness; calculating, expectant. Harsh. All Geoff can make out is the wet gleam of his lips, the way his eyes shine with the barest trace of moonlight. It’s not the boy Geoff loves. For a dizzying moment, he fancies it’s the monster come to life.

Geoff says, “I can’t, Awsten, I don’t…”

There’s a suspended pause before Awsten laughs without any trace of humor. “Am I really that fucking repulsive, then?” It’s mocking, now, almost cruel. “Am I so unappealing that I can’t even make my boyfriend hard?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Geoff says, the word coming out in an alarmed whoosh of air like a punch in the gut. “Don’t say that, you know it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, Geoff?” Awsten asks, his tone brittle. “Because you won’t touch me, and you won’t look at me, and I’m trying, here. I really am.”

Geoff can’t look at him. He can’t look over and see those eyes, hard and dull like rocks. He says, “I can’t do this right now. Not when—... Not now.” He swallows, hard, and blinks back the heat prickling behind his eyes. “I can’t.”

Awsten mutters, “Fine.” He rolls over and hikes the blankets up to his ears, and they stop talking.

Geoff sleeps on the couch that night.

He goes to work early the next day. His boss asks him to stay late, and he says _of course, no problem._ When he finally gets home at eight, Awsten is already in bed. They still don’t talk.

 

+

 

Geoff calls the hospital the next night while Awsten is asleep. They tell him exactly what he expects to hear - they don’t have any beds open, and Mr. Knight’s last section expired back in March, anyways, so it’s not like they could force him to go back against his will until things get exponentially worse and they can reassess him. Geoff politely tells the lady _thank you_ even though it feels like his chest is collapsing.

He sits at the counter in the dark and researches residential treatment centers, different kinds of therapy and every support group in the area, but all he sees are dollar signs. There’s no way in hell they’re going to be able to pull together this kind of money. Even if Geoff picks up another job or two, they can’t afford upwards of a thousand dollars a night for a bed, and that’s not even considering the additional fact that Awsten actively doesn’t want treatment.

Geoff erases his search history and closes his laptop.

A few feet away in their bedroom, Awsten is obliviously curled up under the covers of their bed with cold hands and feet. His face is already losing any of the wonderful softness it has held over the past year, jaw growing harsh and too angular, the knobs of his vertebrae beginning to peek out at the top of his spine.

Geoff knows how this goes. He knows how it will play out, how Awsten’s weight will continue to plummet and his bones will poke through, sharper every day. He’ll bloat, which he won’t be happy about, and he’ll begin to shake ever so slightly from the hypoglycemia and electrolyte imbalances, so he’ll have to start planning out the exact amount of food he needs to function during the day (but still enough to lose weight, because he always has to be smaller and smaller and smaller and _smallest_ ). Shortly after that, the fainting will start.

Awsten won’t stop there, though. No matter how many pounds he drops, he’ll never be small enough. He likes to push the limits of how long his body can sustain him. He’s always been stupidly proud of the way he destroys himself, and one day, his heart is going to give out.

Geoff is struck by the notion that he’s going to have to watch his boyfriend die.

 

+

 

Yet another week and a half passes. All of a sudden, Awsten gets nauseous and sweaty. His muscles twitch, and he throws up a couple times unprompted, and Geoff doesn’t even have to look at his pill bottles to know he’s in withdrawal because he’s stopped taking all of them cold turkey.

They have another fight about it. Geoff calls the hospital again, and then he calls the local clinic, and then he leaves a message for Doctor Ross, but it’s all the same bullshit answers: “get him to therapy” and “make sure he’s eating enough”.

As if that’s not the exact fucking problem.

The issue is that Geoff can’t force Awsten to do anything. He can’t force him to talk about his feelings, or put food in his mouth, or make him take his pills. He can’t fix this if Awsten won’t let him help.

But Awsten keeps fighting tooth and nail against him, keeps getting worse, and Geoff can’t do anything.

 

+

 

Awsten asks if he can take the car. Tells him, more accurately, seeing as he’s got the keys in hand and he’s halfway through putting on his shoes.

Geoff says no, because lately Awsten is shaky and dizzy and unable to concentrate, and because he doesn’t want to hear that his boyfriend died or killed someone else in a car accident because he passed out behind the wheel.

They fight about that, too. Awsten doesn’t talk to him for fourteen hours. Geoff buys him a bus pass.

+

 

Three more weeks go by. Nothing changes, except everything gets worse. Awsten is declining steadily with every day that passes, and it hurts to look at him. He refuses every attempt Geoff makes to help. They yell back and forth, and things get thrown, and nothing ever gets solved.

Awsten hits Geoff - once, and only once. They’re fighting about something Geoff can’t remember, and Awsten shoves him backwards with angry tears in his eyes, lashes out with a fist that hits him square in the cheek before either of them know what’s happening.

Geoff doesn’t hit back. He doesn’t even move. He just stands there, numbly, a terrible, awful silence falling over the room as Awsten stumbles backwards with wide, horrified eyes. “No. No, no, no.”

Geoff doesn’t stop him from running. Awsten leaves the apartment for a day and a half, and when he comes back, neither of them want to bring it up. It takes less than six hours to return to the shouting matches.

Geoff keeps saying _you’re killing yourself_ and Awsten keeps saying _I’m fine_ , and the two of them just keep screaming at each other, trapped inside this little snowglobe of starvation.

Awsten’s clothes are always too big. He wears two pairs of socks and uses up all the hot water, and Geoff starts spending as little time around him as possible.

He hates seeing the way Awsten’s hands are constantly, compulsively drifting up to skate across his jutting collarbones, fingers wrapping loosely around his wrist; always checking, always making sure he’s thin enough, reassuring himself that he’s losing enough weight. He hates the constant fury. He hates walking on eggshells until his feet bleed. He hates watching the man he loves be dragged back down into this pit he had only just crawled out of, reduced to a half-human mess of obsession and misplaced control.

Geoff keeps checking back in with the hospital, but they still won’t take him.

No space. Not urgent enough.

He watches Awsten sleep at night, and thinks _how much further do I have to let you go?_

He watches the rise and fall of Awsten’s rib cage, the angles of his shoulder blades, so defined underneath his skin it makes him want to puke.

_how much further do I have to let you die?_

 

+

 

As a general rule, Geoff doesn’t let himself have false hope. Not anymore. Not when it comes to this monster.

Ever since the beginning, he’s had too much optimism for too many close calls. There have been too many times where he’s let himself believe they’ve beaten the disorder, that they’re finally in the clear, only to have the rubber band break and send them sliding back to square one.

But it’s been three years. Geoff knows better, now. He knows that one good day doesn’t mean anything. He knows that a moment of normalcy doesn’t signify recovery. He knows this, and he doesn’t let himself hope.

Today, though, he’ll let it slide.

Because today is a Sunday, and Geoff wakes up with Awsten smiling at him across the pillow.

When Awsten leans over to kiss him, it’s gentle and light, soft and stale from sleep as his fingers dance over Geoff’s shoulder, and he says, “I want you to take me to our diner.”

So Geoff does. They wake up and get dressed and he takes Awsten back to the diner they went to the first night they met, and they sit across from each other in that same booth they always have, and Geoff pretends he doesn’t see the dark circles under Awsten’s eyes.

Awsten orders without flinching. An stack of pancakes each, with syrup and extra chocolate chips. He pours a packet of sugar into his coffee and stirs it with a smile as he talks.

They play house. They pretend everything is fine, and for a moment, it is. In the linoleum of the booth, they’re safe. There’s no monster. It’s a Sunday morning, they’re on a date like anyone else, and Geoff loves Awsten more than anything in the whole world.

The pancakes come, and Awsten eats his like he used to, pours syrup on and cuts off bite after bite, still laughing all the while.

They end up staying there at the diner for two hours. They eat, and they talk, and for that little window of time, Geoff is transported to a time six months ago when things were okay. Awsten can’t finish more than half of his plate because of how much his stomach has shrunk, but Geoff pretends he doesn’t see that. He just sees his boyfriend; his beautiful, wonderful, ridiculous boyfriend, sitting in their diner across from him, and when the sunlight hits the blinds just right and casts lines on Awsten’s cheeks, they don’t look as hollow as they normally do. If Geoff doesn’t look too hard, maybe he could even pass as healthy. Stable. Safe.

The waitress comes back for their plates, and Geoff pays the bill. His fingers twine with Awsten’s as they stand to leave. He holds on tight and imagines they’re not cold from lack of circulation.

They walk through the park for a while, watching kids and pointing out dogs like they used to. It’s easy to pretend.

Awsten turns to him with a smile, a big, happy one that shows his gums on the one side, and says, “You wanna go to a movie?”

They do. They see a romantic comedy, because it’s the only thing playing within the next half hour, but Geoff watches Awsten more than he watches the screen.

It’s still the afternoon when they get out of the theatre. They go walking downtown, because they can; Awsten has to stop a couple times to slow down and catch his breath, but he’s still laughing and smiling the whole time.

Geoff doesn’t want this to end.

They’ve wandered a bit too far out of the way, so they end up taking the bus back to the apartment around six. Awsten says, “Let’s order in.” Geoff asks what he wants.

Half an hour later, they’re sharing a pizza and watching last night’s episode of Saturday Night Live, even though this one’s not that funny. Awsten still laughs at the good parts, complains at the bad ones, and he doesn’t get up to puke. Geoff is so in love it fucking hurts.

They brush their teeth together for the first time in five weeks.

When they crawl into bed, Awsten asks, “Do you wanna...?”

Geoff shakes his head. “Not tonight.” Softer, he adds, “I had a really great time today.”

“I did too,” Awsten shoots him a small smile.

They fall asleep spooned together. Awsten isn’t the right shape, but Geoff curls around him anyways.

_one good day doesn’t mean anything._

 

+

 

It rains for two days straight after that, almost as if to prove a point.

Awsten gets out of bed the next morning - a bleak, grey Monday - and immediately blacks out. He hits his head and gets a bleeding nose, already struggling to his knees as Geoff rushes in from the kitchen.

“Fell,” he says, shakily. “‘M okay, ‘m fine. Jus’ fell.”

There’s a horrifying amount of blood dribbling down his face, but he hasn’t broken anything and he’s only dazed for a couple minutes. Geoff barely has time to check him over and wipe the mess off before he’s back to snapping and snarling as he storms out of the bathroom.

Geoff looks down at the red-stained towel. All he can see is the blood, seeping through the fabric, and he wonders how long this can continue.

 

+

 

The breaking point comes less than a week later.

It’s around two in the morning, when Saturday night is bleeding into Sunday morning in a big confusing jumble. Geoff is sitting at the counter. He’s not even sure why he’s awake, but he is, and Awsten is making more goddamn tea. Neither of them say a word. They’re still not talking to each other, because last night Geoff found a scale hidden in the back of their closet and threw it in the dumpster, and then Awsten had yelled for a brutal fifteen minutes about how fucking unhappy he was in their relationship.

Amidst the vitriol and the words that hit like fucking daggers in his skin, all Geoff had been able to think was, _This isn’t helping anybody._

He’s fucking miserable. So is Awsten. Every day is the same; every fight is on loop, replaying over and over until it’s just resentment and pain and they forget why they’re even together.

It’s a blinding kind of lucidity as it hits him, and spurs him into breaking the weighted silence. “What are we doing?”

Awsten looks at him, blankly. “What do you mean?”

Geoff knows this is the part where he should back down. He should shut his fucking mouth and bite his tongue until it bleeds and just fucking go to bed, but instead what comes out is:

“I mean, what’s happening to us? Why is it coming back? Why is everything falling apart again?”

Awsten’s expression is morphing into something ugly; pissed off and guarded, his brows falling into a hard line. “What?”

Geoff feels like he’s floundering here, but he’s too far in. He doesn’t quite know who’s in control when he wearily keeps talking. “We’re fighting, Awsten,” he continues. “Every single day. It’s not healthy. Everything keeps getting worse and you’re still not eating and—“

Awsten practically snarls when he says, “Jesus fucking Christ, will you let it go already? I’m fine.”

There’s a quiet in the air that follows his outburst. It’s as if something has snapped; delicate, like the last thread of a spider’s web, and everything is being tilted off of its axis like marbles falling off a plank of wood.

Geoff buries his face in his hands when he says, “I can’t keep doing this, Aws, I can’t—“

“Then maybe you shouldn’t.”

There’s a long moment of silence. When Geoff’s hands fall away and he meets Awsten’s eyes, he sees the concave of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes, the defiant jut of his chin. Distantly, the kettle clicks off as it finishes boiling.

“Awsten—“ he tries.

“I mean it. I’m not fucking kidding. If you can’t deal with me like I am, I don’t want you here.”

“Don’t,” Geoff reflexively shakes his head, heart thudding. “You need help.” He knows as soon as the words leave his mouth they’re only going to break things even more, but he can’t stop now. Not this time. “You can’t keep doing this, you can’t— You’re killing yourself, Awsten. We’re doing this over and over and I can’t just stand by and watch you do this when you’re not even trying to help yourself. I don’t want to do this. Not again, not— Not like this.”

A muscle in Awsten’s jaw twitches, but he says nothing. His eyes are deadly.

There’s something ripping itself apart inside Geoff’s chest, helpless and damaged. “I want to be here for you, baby. I want to help you but you’re not letting me, and I can’t just— I can’t just sit here and watch you destroy yourself. I can’t keep doing this when it’s only me.”

“I don’t want you here,” Awsten says, the words coming out like poison. He turns his back.

Geoff’s voice cracks when he says, “I love you so much.”

The words keep coming. He’s saying everything now, sentences coming out choppy and broken through the lens of his distress, but it doesn’t make a difference. The damage is already done.

It’s all his worst fears come to life, slick in his throat - he can’t do this, and Awsten doesn’t want him anymore.

Three years of love, of laughter, of tears, of screaming, of hospital beds and IVs and pills and feeding tubes, and it’s over.

Geoff takes an hour to pack. He only takes what he needs. Awsten stands out on the balcony and turns his back while Geoff numbly stuffs his clothes and laptop and chargers in his bag on autopilot, choking on his own heart and unable to breathe.

Before he leaves, he tells Awsten, “I love you.” He says, “Call me when something changes.”

Closing the front door behind him might be the worst thing he’s ever done. He doesn’t have a plan, or anywhere to stay, so he just gets in his car and drives until he finds himself sitting in a Walgreen’s parking lot, crying until he’s gasping for air.

Three years, and this fucking disease is the thing that kills them.

 

+

 

Geoff ends up checking into a motel. The man at the front desk asks him how long he’s staying, and he doesn’t have an answer.

 

+

 

On the third night, Geoff lies awake in an unfamiliar bed as the power flickers on and off. It’s past midnight. There’s no one beside him.

Across the city, Awsten lies alone in a bed that doesn’t feel like his. He’s waiting for the forty-two pills he swallowed to drag him under.

 

+

 

Geoff’s cell phone rings at three AM, and for a minute before he’s fully awake, he thinks it’s Awsten.

It’s not.

It’s Otto, and he’s crying, and Geoff is already running out to his car before Otto even tells him where to go.

They sit in the hospital waiting room together for a long time. Otto tells him that a next-door neighbour had come knocking because there was loud music playing, and the door had been unlocked. She’d found him in bed and called 9-1-1.

Geoff had always liked Mrs. Gonzalez.

Otto keeps talking. Geoff hears the story, but it’s soft of muffled and broken up. He says there was an ambulance and paramedics - neither of which they can really afford, but that they’re going to have to. Awsten had gone unconscious. There’d been a seizure, or something. Geoff tries his best not to think about the fact that Otto got the call first, or how much that feels like a knife in his sternum.

He wonders what record Awsten put on. He wonders what Awsten was thinking, or if he thought about Geoff at all. He wonders if Awsten was scared.

Geoff shudders an exhale and hears himself say, “This is my fault.”

“No,” Otto turns to him, adamant even through his red-rimmed eyes, “No, don’t— Don’t even say that. You didn’t do this.”

“I think I did,” Geoff wipes his nose. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. I should have kept him safe.”

His shoulders are shaking as he thinks about Awsten, somewhere in this building that he’s always hated so much, wanting to die so bad and Geoff not being there for him.

Otto says, “Stop it. Stop it, just _stop it_. This wasn’t your fault. He was—“ he swallows, “You didn’t do this. You weren’t wrong to leave.”

He was, though.

Geoff should have stayed. He should have been there, even if Awsten was angry and uncooperative and mean. Awsten didn’t want Geoff, but he had needed him, and Geoff hadn’t fought to stay.

He should have kept trying. He should have stayed no matter how hard it got. But Awsten gave him a way out, and he took it.

“You didn’t do this, Geoff,” Otto repeats. “If you hadn’t left, Awsten eventually would have. This thing is killing you both.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t make it any better.

They sit in silence for a long time. People come by with updates, sometimes, but Geoff doesn’t even see their faces; he just sees scrubs and running shoes, and hears things like _intravenous fluids_ and _activated charcoal_ and _gastric lavage_ that mean jack shit to him even when they try to explain it.

Another doctor comes. Her coat is white and starched, and she tells them a bunch of things Geoff doesn’t really hear but that basically amount to _he’s alive_. She says something about hospital therapists and suicide risk assessments, about Awsten starting to come out of sedation, and then finishes with, “He’s asking for you.”

Geoff looks up and sees she’s looking only at Otto, and he nods quickly even though his chest is seizing up.

“It’s okay,” he tells Otto, voice rough. “I’ll go. I don’t... I don’t think he would want to see me.” He wipes his nose and says, “Tell him I was here, alright? Tell him— Tell him that I love him. Make sure he knows, okay?”

“Okay,” Otto says gently, “Okay. I will.” He looks like he wants to protest, but something in Geoff’s expression has him just nodding in understanding. He looks miserable and scared.

It’s morning out when Geoff leaves the hospital and pays for his parking ticket stub, and the sun is shining. It’s fucking unbearable.

Geoff gets to work a half-hour late. His manager chews him out and he nods along, says _I’m sorry, won’t happen again_. He stays for overtime when he’s asked, partly because he needs something to do, and partly because half his brain is already focused on paying whatever medical bills Awsten is wracking up right now. He’s there until eight PM and gets up from his desk thrice the whole day.

Awsten is frankly unable to hold a steady nine-to-five job, and his art commissions can only take him so far, so Geoff doesn’t see any way around shouldering this burden. Contacting his parents is out of the question, the disability benefits program has caused them nothing but misery, and God knows the stupid fucking insurance company won’t be of any help, either.

Geoff spends two hours on the phone fighting with them that night anyways - they say they’ll pitch in a couple hundred to cover the ambulance services since they were deemed a medical necessity, but nothing more unless Awsten is admitted ‘long-term’. Geoff thanks the man and hangs up feeling angry and directionless.

It takes a long time to get to sleep that night, and he stays awake on the uncomfortable motel bed, questioning why he even left Awsten in the first place. He had initially thought the distance would help, that maybe it would be easier - but for who? For himself? For Awsten?

Either way, it’s a fucking joke; Geoff is miserable and scared out of his goddamn mind, and Awsten clearly isn’t doing any better. It’s awful when they’re together, and it’s still awful when they’re apart.

He doesn’t know what to do. When it comes to Awsten, he’s starting to think he never did.

 

+

 

Otto sends him a text a couple days later that tells him the doctors are clearing Awsten to go home, and then another that says Jawn is flying up to keep an eye on him for a while.

Geoff sends back a simple _Thank you._

He wonders what kind of bullshit lies Awsten told the shrink so they’d let him leave, and then he waits for the other shoe to drop.

 

+

 

A week and a half later, it does. Awsten attempts again.

Through Otto’s fragmented sentences over the phone, Geoff gathers that Jawn had stepped onto the balcony for a ten-minute phone call while Awsten took a nap. Except Awsten wasn’t sleeping, and it turns out ten minutes was exactly enough time for him to smash a lightbulb and use the glass to slit his wrists.

Geoff gets the call on his way home from work. He doesn’t remember driving to the hospital or parking, just walking through the main doors with the sluggish thumping of his heartbeat in his ears and the thought _this is it, this is it, this is it. i’ve lost him this time._

Otto isn’t in the waiting room, but Jawn is. He stands up when Geoff approaches, fear and guilt swimming in his glassy eyes, and Geoff just hugs him and says, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Jawn mumbles. “I’m sorry, Geoff. I didn’t— I should have been watching him, I shouldn’t have left the room, I should have—“

Geoff shakes his head and holds on a little tighter. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “It’s okay. He’s going to be okay.”

They don’t know that, though. Not yet. Geoff repeats it anyways.

A part of him wants to blame Jawn, he thinks, but he looks at the tears welling up in those brown eyes, the miserable downturn to his mouth, and he can’t. Jawn didn’t do this. This was Awsten, the monster, and a lightbulb. As much as the thought sickens him, he knows if it hadn’t been today, it surely would have been another day, and maybe Jawn wouldn’t have found him.

So Geoff holds him, and says, “I’m sorry. I’m— Thank you for being there.”

Otto comes back from walking the halls ten minutes later and finds them sitting there together, hands clasped tight like a prayer. He takes a seat on Geoff’s other side. “Um, I gave them all the information. No news yet.”

They sit there in silence, and the three of them play the waiting game again. The first update arrives twenty minutes later, and after that they come every so often, delivered by a nurse with a tepid tone who never promises anything.

What they know boils down to three basic facts: Awsten is alive, but still being watched closely and ‘awaiting assessment’. He’s not awake. They aren’t allowed to see him yet.

Geoff’s chest hurts.

He stays there in the waiting room all night, barely getting up to walk or go to the bathroom for fear of something important happening while he’s not there. It’s not until the clock reads five-thirty the next morning that it dully registers he has work today. He’s been pushing it lately, and knows he can’t afford to be late again. He still doesn’t make a move until Otto urges him to go.

“We’ll be here the whole time,” he says. “Promise. We’ll call with updates as often as they come, okay?”

So Geoff reluctantly gets back in his car and drives back to work. He hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours, but his manager doesn’t seem to either notice or care that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes.

True to his word, Otto or Jawn call with updates every so often, even when nothing is happening because it’s still all medical history and paperwork and assessments. Geoff continues to surreptitiously excuse himself to the bathroom and listen to each voicemail with his phone pressed tight to his ear. None of the messages do much to assuage his worry, but they keep the bigger kind of panic at bay.

The only good news comes at three in the afternoon. Geoff leans against the bathroom wall with white knuckles and plays the message three times over.

“They’re keeping him,” the recording of Otto’s voice says on the third time. “They’re taking him up to General Psych for now, and then they’re going to transfer him to another place when a bed opens up.”

Geoff holds his head in his hands and cries. This time, it’s relief.

 

+

 

Within two weeks, they receive notice that there’s a bed open at a specialized facility a few cities over. Awsten is sent there immediately. Geoff doesn’t see him before he goes.

Awsten has made it clear to Otto that he doesn’t want to give up the apartment, but since Geoff balks at the thought of moving back in, it’s quietly agreed with the landlord that Jawn will stay there as a placeholder to pay rent until Awsten gets back.

The arrangements are made quickly. Otto is the one to bite the bullet and call Awsten’s parents to let them know what’s happened, but when Geoff asks him what they said, Otto just shakes his head with a tight expression and says, “They’ll pray.”

Right.

Geoff insists that he’ll figure out the medical expenses, because that’s always been his job; Awsten hates the math and the insurance people, so Geoff does it. He figures he’ll keep doing it now. If he can help, or if he can make this easier for Awsten in any way, he has to.

So he asks Jawn to forward the apartment’s mail to him. When the first envelopes come and the bills start to roll in, Jawn also hands him an unmarked envelope with a cheque and some bills inside.

“Least we can do,” Jawn says. “He’s our boy, too.”

Geoff immediately wants to tell him that he doesn’t need it, that he can do this, but he keeps coming back to those words: _He’s our boy, too._

Four syllables to ease the ache.

It’s still not enough money, but it helps keep him on his feet enough that he can avoid drowning, for the time being.

 

+

 

A few weeks pass. Geoff can’t stay at the motel forever, so he finds a new apartment.

It’s awful. There’s no one playing the same Good Charlotte record over and over, no pictures on the walls, no expensive chia in the fridge or rainbow clothes lying on the floor, and the bathtub isn’t stained with cheap hair dye.

There’s nothing to come home to.

Geoff buys a jar of pickles, and no one yells at him. He gets up at five in the morning for work, and no one grumbles at him to turn the light off. He sees something funny on Twitter, and he’ll get halfway through addressing a direct message before he realizes he has no one to send it to.

He feels a little broken inside.

Geoff doesn’t know what to do, so he closes himself off and throws everything he has back into work. He manages to land a decent side job at an online magazine that pays per submission, and gets in the routine of spending a few hours writing articles every night even though he hates researching current issues.

The money helps. Geoff makes enough to pay for his own expenses, and then everything else leftover goes to paying hospital bills for a man who isn’t his husband, isn’t his boyfriend, isn’t even his.

He wishes for a phone call, some days.

 

It never comes.

 

+

 

The months drag on. Geoff keeps working, keeps fighting with the shitty insurance company, keeps wondering if things are ever going to get better. He looks up one day, and it’s spring.

He occasionally finds himself at a bar with an overwhelming urge to drink something strong until his stomach bleeds and his brain clouds over, but he never does. Instead, he always ends up ordering a Coke and staring down at the counter, thinking about how far away Awsten is and how many miles he’d be willing to walk.

 

+

 

It should get easier as the months pass and the days add up, but somehow it still hurts the same. Geoff doesn’t decorate his apartment, he doesn’t fuck anyone else, and he doesn’t move on. He’s not sure if he’s physically capable.

He lies in bed and thinks _maybe this was it _\- that maybe Awsten was The One for him, the only one, and by some cruel twist of fate, he’d simply been too broken for them to work. Geoff is irrationally angry. He’s bitter, and miserable, and he wants his beautiful, wonderful, ridiculous boyfriend back.__

__He still has the nightmares. Most nights, he still dreams of Awsten, clutching broken glass and bleeding out on the bedroom floor as Geoff tries to hold pressure against the wounds. He’s always screaming for someone - anyone - to come help him, but no one ever does, and Awsten always dies._ _

__He always dies._ _

__

__+_ _

__

__Otto tries to visit as much as possible, but Awsten only agrees to see him once a month. Geoff doesn’t ask many questions each time Otto gets back - just a simple, “You saw him?”_ _

__Each time, he nods with a small smile. “Yeah. He’s getting better.”_ _

__

__+_ _

__

__Just short of seven months after Awsten was transferred to the other side of the state, the bills stop coming. Jawn goes back to LA. Geoff’s phone still doesn’t ring._ _

__

__

__+_ _

__

__

__

__Another month._ _

__Geoff doesn’t pass by their old street anymore. It doesn’t feel like welcoming, and it doesn’t feel like the home it once was. It’s just another hollow, empty place where something bad happened, where things fell apart, where he watched their life crumble. Every time he walks past the colourful bodega at the corner a few buildings down from their old apartment, he turns his head forward and carries on._ _

__It’s even worse now, in a way, knowing that Awsten is right there and yet so, so very far away. Same city, same address, a few short blocks away, but he might as well be behind a six-inch wall of bulletproof glass. Geoff feels like he’s being strangled. Every time he catches a glimpse of dyed hair across the grocery store, his lungs freeze up and his hands get sweaty and he can’t breathe, damn it, because for a second they all look like Awsten but they aren’t._ _

__They aren’t._ _

__

__

__They aren’t._ _

__

__

__+_ _

__

__

__He wonders if Awsten ever hurts like this, too._ _

__

__

__+_ _

__

__

__Geoff tries to move on. It’s been eight months, after all. Or was it nine months?_ _

__Either way, more than half a year is gone by now. Too many days to try and count, but he’s still left behind._ _

__So he fucks someone._ _

__It’s not good._ _

__He doesn’t wish it was._ _

__

__

__+_ _

__

__It’s ironic, really, that the two of them finally come face to face in the cereal aisle of a grocery store._ _

__It’s 10pm on a Thursday night and Geoff is in his sweatpants, sneakers untied as he looks down at the list on his phone to check the brand of oatmeal he wanted, and then he looks up and—_ _

__Blue._ _

__It’s blue hair, face tilted just slightly away, and Geoff swears time freezes altogether. His shoe makes an obnoxious squeak against the linoleum floor as he comes to a halt._ _

__Awsten turns to look. “Oh,” he says._ _

__For a long moment, Geoff doesn’t say anything. His eyes flick to the shelf, to the floor, to the box of granola Awsten is holding. “Hi,” he finally manages. “I—… Hi.”_ _

__There’s a pause. Awsten shifts a little, holding the box closer to himself. “Hi. Um, how are you?”_ _

__Geoff blinks. “I’m okay,” he replies, the response lagging. It’s not exactly the full truth, but it’ll do for now._ _

__Awsten nods, not meeting his eyes. “That’s good. I, um. I’m doing okay too, I think.”_ _

__“That’s good,” Geoff says, and he means it. The silence stretches out between them. He’s trying to pretend like he hasn’t noticed how much healthier Awsten looks, but he’s sure they’re both keenly aware of it - the curve of his jaw, the faint blush of his cheeks, his eyes not as sunken._ _

__He looks beautiful._ _

__Awsten ducks his head. “I… Yeah. Things are a lot better. I have a group meeting every week, and then check-ins and stuff.”_ _

__“I’m glad,” Geoff says. “I’m— That’s good to hear. Really good.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Awsten says back._ _

__For a second, neither of them speak._ _

A part of Geoff feels so out-of-place he wants to run. This is _Awsten_. This is the same man he handed his heart to, the same different-coloured eyes he woke up to every morning, the same skin he kissed every inch of. 

Last year he would have said _like the back of my hand_. Now he’s just stuck standing in a grocery store in his sweatpants, trying to make small talk as if he isn’t about to unravel. 

__“I, um,” Awsten starts, just as Geoff says “Well—“_ _

__Another pause, pink and embarrassed._ _

__“Go ahead, sorry,” Geoff says._ _

__“Yeah. I just...“ Awsten shifts uncomfortably, looking down at the granola still clutched between his hands. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For— For everything. I think about it a lot and I feel bad about it, Geoff. I feel really, really bad.”_ _

__His words hang there for a second before Geoff musters the brain cells to say, “It’s… Well.”_ _

__What is he supposed to say? ‘It’s okay’? Because it’s not, and it hasn’t been for a long time. It’s been years and fights and the cost of both their hearts lying broken on the floor, over and over again._ _

__He swallows hard, gaze flicking over to look at Sam the Toucan on the shelf in front of him. Sam the Toucan looks back. He eventually settles on, “It wasn’t good for either of us.”_ _

__In the periphery of his vision, he sees Awsten nod. “Yeah. It’s just— I did this, and I know I hurt you, and. I’m sorry that I did that. Any of that.” He looks pained. Geoff wants to just tell him to stop, but he doesn’t. “I’ve been selfish about a lot of things for a really long time, and… It’s been really hard to get used to all of this,” he vaguely gestures to his body. “It’s— It’s terrifying. It’s still really, really terrifying. But I’m actually trying this time.”_ _

__He huffs a breath. “They told us in treatment that it would help if we picked a reason to— to get better. And I knew it shouldn’t be a person, but all I could think about was you.”_ _

__Geoff is trying very hard not to stare at him._ _

__“So… I thought about how much I loved you and all the years you stayed with me, even when I was being such a demon, and. The reason I finally came up with was ‘to stop hurting other people’,” Awsten finishes._ _

__“Oh,” Geoff says, somewhat dumbly, and then a half-beat later follows it up with, “Loved?”_ _

__Awsten’s brows draw minutely together in a silent question._ _

__“You said ‘loved’,” Geoff repeats. “As in, you loved me. Past tense.”_ _

__There’s a flicker of hesitation, and then Awsten’s expression melts into one that’s halfway hurt, halfway alarmed. “Oh, no. God no, Geoff. I didn’t— No. It’s not—… I didn’t mean it like that.” He shakes his head, tugs at his shirt in a gesture of discomfort so familiar it makes Geoff want to sink into the ground._ _

__His voice softens when he exhales softly and says, “I was gone for a long time, Geoff. I thought—… I mean, for a while there, I wasn’t sure if you would be here when I got back.”_ _

__“Oh,” Geoff says again. One of the fluorescent lights above flickers, a split second of shadow, and then they’re just standing there, staring at each other. “No, that’s… No. I couldn’t.”_ _

__Awsten swallows. “I didn’t— I’m sorry. I should have called.”_ _

__It’s Geoff’s turn to shake his head. “Don’t be sorry. It… I’m just glad you’re okay.” The words come out stilted and foreign, but he means them, and he’s tired of this. If he doesn’t say it now, he’s not sure when he’s ever going to be able to. So he looks Awsten in the eye and says, “I’m not sure I did the right thing, either. I still haven’t decided. But I’d like it if we could just stop with all the apologies, okay?”_ _

__The corner of Awsten’s mouth twitches a little. “Okay,” he agrees with a tiny, breathless laugh. “Okay.”_ _

__“Alright,” Geoff says. He takes a step towards the shelf and grabs the oatmeal, says “I have to get to work early, so. I’d better go. Do you, um. Do you think we could talk again sometime?”_ _

__Awsten nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I— Yeah. Of course. I got a new phone a while back, so, uh. Can I get your number?”_ _

__Geoff finds himself smiling back a little. “Only if you won’t stand me up,” he says, but he’s already reaching for his phone._ _

__It’s not perfect, but it’s a start._ _

__After all, they’ve been through the end together. It would only be fitting for them to begin again that way, too._ _

__

__+_ _

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @[shotgunmessiahs](http://shotgunmessiahs.tumblr.com) 💕


End file.
